Star Trek: Aliens with Lumpy Foreheads
by Flopsie
Summary: The crew of the Enterprise are thrown into chaos when something terrible fails to happen.


_I own nothing_

**Star Trek: The Next Generation**

**Aliens with Lumpy Foreheads**

_Captain's Log, Stardate: 59837458364564634563636345636435654643. Or something._

_We're en route to Starbase sixty-nine in the Zargulon system in order to resupply. A routine operation...pfft, not bloody likely. We've done this enough times to know that something is bound to go horribly wrong along the way._

_It's getting to the stage now where we can't even go a single day without being attacked by the Romulans, being kidnapped and brutally tortured, or at least one of us being assimilated by the Borg. Starfleet won't supply us with any new recruits, as all of our Ensigns seem to keep getting themselves gruesomely killed._

_The crew is constantly on edge, and Dr Crusher reports that sick bay is running critically low on Prozac._

_Well, we'll undertake this 'routine operation.' But I know something awful is bound to happen along the way._

Jean Luc Picard, captain of the Starship Enterprise, paced nervously up and down the ship's bridge. The vessel was two hours into the journey to Starbase sixty-nine and nothing terrible had happened. No distress calls, no urgent messages from Starfleet, no nothing. Yet.

'You never know, Captain,' said Commander Will Riker, the ship's token rufty-tufty beard man. 'Things might be different this time. We might actually get there without anything happening.'

'Oh please, Number One!' snapped Picard. `We've done this enough times to know that just isn't going to happen. Think of all the 'routine' missions we've undertaken and tell me this. How many of them have actually turned out to be routine?'

'Erm...'

'Exactly. You could count them on the fingers of one foot. It's always the same. We can't go fifteen minutes on this bloody ship without being shot at, stranded, tortured, imprisoned or assimilated. On occasions all at once'

'There's always a first time for everything, Captain,' said Counsellor Deanna Troi, the psychic alien one, in her strange pseudo-foreign accent. 'Maybe Will is right. Let's not worry about it until it actually happens.'

'Well...all right,' said Picard, settling uneasily into the Captain's chair, 'but I'm telling you something really terrible is in store for us. Anyway, how long until we reach Starbase sixty-nine, Data?'

'Approximately one hour, twenty-six minutes, ten seconds and three milliseconds, Captain,' replied Data the android in stereotypical robot fashion.

'Hmm, plenty of time for something bad to happen,' said Picard.

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There followed a brief period of silence. Picard watched the main viewscreen, showing what appeared to be a forward view of the ship, the stars whizzing by at breakneck speed. In actuality it was only a screen saver, but no one really bothered too much about that.

'Just out of curiosity, he said to Troi, 'what accent is that supposed to be anyway?'

'I'm not really sure, Captain,' said Troi. 'I think it's supposed to give me a kind of mysterious, alien, psychic space-gypsy quality.'

'Ah. Very good, Counsellor.'

Suddenly Worf, the Klingon Chief of Security with a forehead like a deformed spade, decided to go all dramatic.

'Captain!' he barked dramatically. 'Long range sensors are picking up a ship off the port bow, confirmed as a Romulan vessel!'

'Aha!' cried Picard, waving an accusatory finger. 'I knew it! Are they raising shields?'

'No, Captain.' replied Worf, scanning the ship's tactical array.

'Oh. Are they arming phasers?'

'No, Captain.'

'But they're at least on an intercept course?'

'No, Captain.'

'For fuck's sake, it's a Romulan ship! They're supposed to be our arch enemies! Why aren't they trying to kill us?'

'Ah!' said Worf. 'I see the problem. There's a speck of dirt on the display screen where it says 'Romulan' over the R. It's actually a ship of that lesser known spacefaring race, the Bomulans.'

'Oh right. What do they look like again?' asked Picard to Data, since robots always know everything about everything.

'The Bomulan race more or less look exactly like human beings except for an oddly-shaped forehead, Captain,' said Data with a thin veneer of smugness, odd considering the fact that he was supposed to be an emotionless android.

'Bloody hell, Data, that applies to about ninety-five percent of the alien races in our galaxy! Can you be a bit more specific?'

'Yes, Captain. Each member of the Bomulan race has a large, bony growth on their forehead that happens to be exactly the same shape as the former Soviet republic of Uzbekistan.'

'Hmm. Uzbekistan eh?' pondered Picard.

'Yes, Captain.'

Suddenly, the communications console bleeped into life.

'Ooh! Ooh! They're hailing us, Captain!' cried Worf.

A surge of adrenalin coursed through the bridge. At last, something terrible was about to happen!

'On screen , Mr Worf,' cried Picard excitedly, tugging at the base of his tunic as he rose from his chair.

'You always do that when you get up from your chair, Captain,' said Riker. 'Maybe you should order one in a bigger size.'

'Quiet, Number One!' snapped Picard. 'Can't you see that something dreadful is about to happen?'

The profile of the Bomulan Captain flashed up on the viewscreen. Dressed in a threatening-looking military uniform, he looked exactly like a human being, except for a large, bony growth on his forehead which happened to be exactly the same shape as the former Soviet republic of Uzbekistan.

'Bomulan vessel, this is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise.'

The Bomulan Captain grinned menacingly through impeccable white teeth, no doubt in anticipation of the evil he had in store for the crew of the Enterprise.

'Greetings Captain,' he said in a particularly evil sounding voice. 'I am Captain B'long'k'pars'nash, with four apostrophes, of the Bomulan starship Flarpidius, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.'

_Ooh, lots of apostrophes in that name, _thought Picard. _Very sinister and alien-y. He must have something truly diabolical in mind for all of us. Well, might as well humour the evil bastard until then._

Drawing himself up to his full height, Picard beamed broadly at his Bomulan counterpart.

'Thank you, Captain!' chimed Picard, 'and might I be the one to compliment you on the unique shape of your forehead?'

'Why thank you, Captain, and might I be the one to compliment you on your impeccable English accent, despite the fact that you're clearly supposed to be French?'

'Erm, haw-hee-haw?' offered Picard weakly.

'Anyway Captain, I shall come straight to the point...' said B'long'k'pars'nash.

_Here it comes, _thought Picard.

'...I hailed your vessel for a very simple reason...'

_Any second now._

'...one reason alone...'

_Get on with it._

'You wouldn't happen to have the right time on you would you?'

'What?'

'The time, do you have the right time?'

'That's all?' asked Picard indignantly. 'You want to know the time?'

'Well yes. I hate to be a pain, but whilst we were en route to our homeworld, we happened to stumble across a subspace anomaly, as you do, which caused all the clocks on board our ship to freeze. Long story short, Captain, we need to know the right time so we can synchronize all of our timepieces again.'

'Ah, sub-space anomalies,' sighed Picard. 'They make for such wonderfully versatile science fiction plot devices.'

Turning to Counsellor Troi, Picard whispered discreetly into her ear.

'Counsellor, this must be a trap. Can you tell me what he's thinking?'

'I sense that he is thinking about fluffy white clouds and cute, ickle puppy dogs, Captain,' said Troi, trying to sound as mysterious and alien-like as possible.

'Really? He's not thinking about blowing our ship to smithereens?'

'No, Captain.'

'No thoughts about our bloodied corpses strewn across the bridge?'

'No, Captain.'

'Just fluffy white clouds.?'

'And cute ickle puppy dogs, Captain.'

'Umm, Captain,' said B'long'k'pars'nash. 'I can actually hear every word you're saying.'

'Oh! Er sorry,' spluttered Picard. 'You wanted to know the time? Certainly!'

He glanced at his watch.

'It's twenty-five minutes to seven., Outer Space Mean Time. PM.'

'Great, Captain. That's a big help! I'll be off now, you have a great day!'

With that, the viewscreen went blank.

'Well,' said Riker. 'That was uneventful.'

'Yes,' said Picard blankly. 'Uneventful indeed.'

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Shortly afterwards, the Enterprise arrived at Starbase sixty-nine. There was a subdued atmosphere on board.

Nothing had happened.

The ship was completely intact. No one had been killed, no one had been injured, no one had been traumatized, terrified or assimilated.

No one had even been mildly irritated.

Everyone felt strangely...empty.

Picard rose from his chair as the face of the Starbase Commander flashed up on screen.

'Greetings, Captain!' he grinned. 'I trust you had an eventful journey.'

'No, actually,' mumbled Picard in disbelief. 'Completely uninteresting. Nothing happened whatsoever. Nothing at all.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Captain.'

Counsellor Troi leaned over.

'Captain,' she said. 'Something doesn't feel right. I sense that he is hiding something from us.'

'Captain!' yelled Worf. Long range sensors are picking up a number of vessels on an intercept course! Thirty-four Romulan Warbirds! Fifty-seven Cardassian ships! One hundred and twenty-six Dominion! Even two hundred and sixty-four Borg cubes! They're all raising shields and arming phasers!'

Picard rubbed his hands gleefully, a broad grin forming across his face.

'Ahh,' he sighed happily, settling into his chair. 'Everything's back to normal.'


End file.
